


A Rescue (from three perspectives)

by shewhowritestoomuch



Series: Perspective [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I watched the finale and now I year for happier times, M/M, Miranda and Thomas may not have been attracted to one another, Multi, Other, Pre-Canon, but you can rip the idea that she was important to him, from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhowritestoomuch/pseuds/shewhowritestoomuch
Summary: An AU wherein Thomas is transported to Savannah after one year of residency in Bethlem Royal Hospital, and James, by way of Miranda, catches wind of it.Naturally, this results in a rescue, some mild mutilation, and an adoption.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before I start, Black Sails is a beautiful piece of media which rivals many classical, well loved tales in terms of the quality of story-telling, and the emotional impact that it leaves on the viewers.
> 
> Hence, while I loved the finale, and think it was a poignant ending which perfectly ended an already brilliant show, I wanted to write some fluff to make me feel better after it ripped my heart out and tap-danced on it.
> 
> I really hope that you all enjoy, please leave comments if you think there's something about the characterization especially which could be improved, or if you like it

It was a quiet day in Nassau when the notorious Captain Flint heard word of the transport ship headed from England to Savannah.

It had been scarcely a year since that title had become associated with him, the consonants still stalling on his tongue when he introduced himself. The soft voice of Thomas still whispered to him in the back of his mind, pleading with him not to lose hold of his life as James McGraw, but it grew fainter and fainter with each and every day, the tone becoming hazier as time passed; it’s arguments less and less persuasive.

He had been lying in Miranda’s bed, after a night of the two of them laying curled up together in silence, as most nights were. The slightly off-white sheets had kept him awake for most of the night, their scratchy fibres combined with the sound of the wind rushing past the house preventing him from falling asleep until he had been well and truly exhausted, by which time the sun had been rising in the east.

Despite the idyllic location, there was no peace to be found there. He wanted to scream, and so did Miranda, but neither of them wanted to scream at each other, no matter how angry they were at the world. So they suffered in silence, there evenings devoid of the conversation and the music that they had loved in London.

Miranda woke up just before he fell asleep, kissed him on the forehead and told him to stay in bed when he half-heartedly tried to follow. He looked up at her confusedly, feeling his mouth downturn against his conscious will, his hand trailing against the rough cotton of her dress and she pushed him down onto the sheets.

“There’s something I have for you, but it’ll keep a few hours.” She patted his hair before leaving the room.

He closed his eyes, not falling back asleep but rather falling into a semiconscious daze, his mind recalling his nightmares of Thomas scared and alone in Bedlam every time he closed his eyes.

The letter from Peter informing him and Miranda of Thomas’ death had been brief, the last piece of correspondence that he had sent them before he too dropped off the map. Aside from the method of the former Lord’s death, the circumstances were frustratingly vague. Had James’ lover been scared the night he had taken his life? Or had he been determined to escape the horrors of Bedlam, in whatever way he could? Neither of the options provided him with much rest.

After hours of this mental torment, when the sun was high in the bright Caribbean sky, he rose, not bothering to put any of his many clothes over his smallclothes, barely able to speak to Miranda with more than short grunts.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” The thought had come to him towards the end of his daze; the thought of something that would have brought the three of them such joy in London coming now that they’d lost everything had made him retch up most of the rum he’d drunk the night before.

She shook her head, putting a slightly burnt bowl of porridge in front of him while she poured a cup of tea and sat across from him. “I have a missive, from one of my former lady’s maids, in London.”

James grunted, looking up at her with a tired expression. _Why do I care?_ His eyes pleaded, _Why should I care?_ Not just about the letter, but everything in his life at the moment.

“She happens to have a cousin who works as a doctor at Bethlehem Royal Hospital. She recently saw him after a long period spent apart, and having heard of Thomas’-”

“Don’t,” James flinched at the sound of the name, he felt his hands curling into claws, looking down at the table as he struggled to get his expression under control, “Miranda, please, don’t.”

“Having heard of the former Lord Hamilton’s death,” Miranda continued, either uncaring or unhearing, “She enquired as to his resting place, only to find to her great shock that he did not in fact kill himself, but was ordered removed from the hospital by none other than Lord Peter Ashe.”

James looked up at her, undisguised hope visible in his eyes. “Miranda? What are you saying?”

“Thomas, it appears, was ordered to be taken to the port, and boarded upon a ship known as _The Queen’s Honour_ , which is bound to Charlestown.” Miranda smiled tearily, sipping her tea.

After months of his mind being dormant, it took a while for James to spring fully into action, the cogs of his mental machinery somewhat dusty. He nodded, beginning to eat the lovingly prepared, highly charred breakfast methodically, attacking it as though it were a puzzle, rather than food.

“When was this sent to you Miranda?”

“The Ship had not yet left port when she sent this to me, three weeks ago.”

“Then there is the possibility of interception, if I act quickly?”

“I know not the sea as you do, James, but I believe that it is within the realm of man.”

James nodded, and stood, striding towards the bedroom with a vivacity which had been absent from him for many a month now.

“I’ll need to ride to Nassau immediately, ready the crew, appease Gates. He already thinks I’m entirely unreasonable and it’s only been a year. Did your maid mention the ship’s cargo?” He grinned at the thought of having Thomas warm and whole in his arms one more.

“No, but couldn’t you fabricate a story, and call it a bad tip if you were to find it a bad prize?”

“It would not do to sully the name of the Guthries so casually.” He spoke from the bedroom pulling his clothes on before returning to the kitchen, picking up his coat from where it hung over one of the chairs, pulling it on while he spoke. “And while I can think of no better cause to sacrifice their professional relationship to, my crew might not agree with me. I’ll try talking to the younger Guthrie, she has a good head on her shoulders, I can see if she’ll forgive me this once.”

Miranda nodded from where she sat at the table, “I suppose you intend to sail immediately?”

“I’m sorry to leave you to the mercy of the puritans, but I’m sure you can understand the importance of such a mission being accomplished quickly.” Maybe he could leave a trap for the pastor should he come visiting.

She sighed, looking him straight in the eyes, “You still sound like you’re fresh from the navy, I hope that it’s from a misplaced sense of decorum in the presence of a lady, rather than your usual manner around your crew.” She walked forward, wiping some invisible dust off his shoulders.

James chuckled, low in his throat, nodding slightly, “I’ll remind ye of your place when I return, wench.” He looked to Miranda for approval, laughing at the horrified amusement plain on her face.

“We’ll work on it together when you return.” She leaned forward, kissing him again on the cheek.

James nodded and left the house, mounting his horse and riding towards Nassau as though possessed by an evil spirit of great power.

* * *

James had no love for New Providence Island, while he enjoyed the warmer climate, he disliked the town there. It was filled with drunks and whores, and a sticky air hung about it at all times. Even when it rained, the place never felt truly clean, leaving him feeling as though insects were crawling all over him. Still, Nassau Port, for all it was a hellhole, was where he laid port, and so there he went.

Upon his arrival to Nassau Port, the notorious Captain Flint’s first port of call was, as always, the Guthries’ Tavern, where he had the greatest chance of finding Hal Gates. His quartermaster was by no account a drunk, merely a man who enjoyed great popularity among the men precisely because he was always accessible to them, and thus spent much time with them at the tavern.

Sure enough, the stout man sat at one of the many tables, a smile on his face as he and the navigator DeGroot grumbled over missing the good sailing weather. James affixed the mask he wore as Captain Flint, smiling devilishly as he slid on the seat next to Gates.

“What would you say if I told you that I had found a solution to missing out on this lovely sailing weather?” He held his hand up, taking a sip of the rum he was provided with to avoid the two experienced sailors’ gazes upon him.

“I’d say that you’ve not been in town enough to pick up any hint of a tip of a good prize, none that Teach would not already have taken.” Flint could feel his quartermaster’s gaze upon him, looking up.

Flint grinned, “But this tip does not come from town, rather a source in England.”

Gates harrumphed, looking at DeGroot in clear exasperation, turning back to Flint with barely disguised disapproval. “You know, the men think that woman of yours is a witch.”

“What does it matter if she gives me good information?” He leant in, his eyes flashing dangerously.

DeGroot leaned forward, one hand held up placatingly, “Captain, I know men who’ve sailed with you, who’ve met you, who know that you are flesh and blood, and they still tell stories of you being a storm forced into human skin by a witch in the interior.”

Flint smirked, taking another sip of his rum. “If only I could hear my enemies speak so kindly of me.”

Gates sighed, fixing him with a look which still made him want to cower in his boots, even after a year of working with the man. “But your men are not your enemies, yet they have fear of you.”

_‘That’s bad for morale’_ was left unspoken.

“I’ll work on it.” Flint leant forward, looking Gates in the eye, “May I tell you of my tip?”

Gates grunted, the closest thing that Flint would have to approval, taking a sip as Flint began.

“I’ve been sent word of a transport ship, carrying precious cargo, living and inanimate alike, making its way to Charlestown, and from there to Savanah.” He smiled, widening his eyes slightly to make them glint.

“It’s a bit out of our normal reach,” Gates looked at DeGroot, then back at Flint, “And with Teach getting restless, there’s no guarantee that we won’t face serious competition for the prize.”

“There never was a prize that came easily that also brought with it great reward. Think Hal, there’s a good chance that we’ll be able to ransom off some of the passengers, and their own possessions should fetch a good price. And then, there’s the cargo they carry. The finest fabrics and jewels-”

Hal harrumphed, standing up, facing Flint, “I’ll take it to the crew.” He walked away quietly.

“Thank you, Mr. Gates.” He returned to his rum, wincing at the thought of what Miranda would say to him, if he returned home with the smell of the alcohol on his breath. Mr. DeGroot turned to him, the older sailor looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Do you have something to say Mr. DeGroot, about our potential endeavour?” He turned, staring the man straight in the eye.

“Only that it is unusual to see you so vivacious, Cap’n.” The man shrugged, his eyes curious.

Flint smiled. “Maybe, like any shark I’m eager to scent the blood on the air.”

Mr. DeGroot grunted, pushing himself away from the bar and walking towards the exit of the tavern.

Flint finally stood, smiling at the young Eleanor Guthrie as she walked up to him, a furious expression on her face. “Who the fuck have you been getting information from?” She pushed both hands on his chest, shoving him back with all of her sixteen-year-old might. “I fucking trusted you.”

“Eleanor, I need you to listen to me-” he put one hand on her shoulder trying to shush her. This seemed to just enrage her; she knocked his arm away, forcing him back another few steps with her fury.

“I thought you were different from Teach, and Hornigold, and the others!” She continued to hit at his chest, obviously getting more and more upset as she landed heavier and heavier blows.

Flint wrapped one arm around her shoulders, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth and began to walk her up the steps towards Mr. Scott’s office, wincing slightly as she began to bite at the hand that he’d placed over her mouth. He stopped halfway up, looking her in the eye, “If I explain what is going on, do you promise to stop trying to bite me?” He waited for a few seconds, raising his eyebrows when she glared up at him furiously, “Eleanor!”

“Fine,” she turned away from him and continued towards Mr. Scott’s office. “I will listen, and if I decide that you have a perfectly good reason for undermining my entire business model, then I won’t set your ship on fire while you’re aboard.” She walked forward, opening the doors giving James scarce seconds to follow her before it slammed shut.

The young woman took her seat in Mr. Scott’s chair as though it already belonged to her. She gestured for James to sit opposite her, holding her chin up in challenge as he settled down into the purposefully uncomfortable chair, glaring at him with all the force she could muster.

“Before I lived in Nassau, I was a lieutenant in the Navy.” James picked up a bottle of rum from the desk, raising his eyebrows in askance before taking a swig, “There was a man, the son of the lord proprietor of this island, and I was assigned to be his Navy liaison. We came up with a plan to reform the Island,” he looked up at Eleanor when he heard her snort, “Something that would never have worked.”

“What was it? I imagine for you to back it, it would have to be a plan of sound logic at least.”

“We were going to pardon all of the pirates, I know now looking at people like Teach that it wouldn’t have been very successful. Those who were the biggest thorns in England’s side would hardly be likely to take it. But, I was younger then, more idealistic, in love.”

He took a deep breath, pushing down the lump in his throat before he looked up at her with tears in his eyes, “We took it to those in power, presented it in the best of faith, and for it, I was exiled form the Navy and he was institutionalised.”

“It doesn’t sound like a bad enough plan for that,” Eleanor leaned forward across the desk, her hands clasped on the desk, her eyes serious beyond her years. “What aren’t you telling me?” She looked down at her hands, brow furrowing as she considered his story, looking up at him accusingly after , “Who did you love?”

James smiled, sighing before he began to speak, “It was two people, actually. Mrs. Barlow, who you met on the day we came to the Island, and the Lord Proprietor’s Son.”

If Eleanor was shocked by his admission, she made no sign of it, her frown still fixed on her face, “What was his name? What was he like?”

“It was Thomas, it is Thomas. When I met him he was full of life, the worst tease, but full of love and kind too.” He sighed, “I received word, through Mrs. Barlow, that Thomas, who we believed had killed himself in Bedlam, well, that he’s alive, being taken to Carolina aboard a transport ship. Please trust me when I say that I do not wish to destabilise the monopoly your family has on Nassau.”

“What do you want then?” Eleanor’s gaze was sharp, the focus in her eyes making her seem far more grown up than here mere thirteen years would have suggested.

James shrugged, leaning back on his chair, feeling the weight of his secrets float away from his chest. “Before I found out that Thomas Hamilton was alive, I would say I wanted to burn the British Empire to the ground for taking my heart away from me. Now, I suppose, I’ll have to see what shape Thomas is in.”

“And if his time in Bedlam has left him a shell of the man you fell in love with?”

James shrugged, “Then, I suppose, neither man nor God will stop me from burning Charlestown and all those who have hurt him until there is naught but ashes left.”

“And if Nassau catches ablaze in your anger?”

“Nassau is the closest thing I have to a home, at least for now, I’ll not direct my anger t’wards it without good reason.” He sipped on the rum a final time as Eleanor ruminated on his plan.

Eleanor nodded, standing up and gesturing to the door. James resisted the urge to laugh for fear that the young woman would shoot him for the offense. “I’ll not set fire to the _Walrus_ , so long as this is a one-time thing. I don’t need any witches taking away business from me.”

“I don’t have many lost loves running around the place.” James stood, putting his Flint mask on once again, his smile changing to a smirk as he opened the door, “Few on Nassau take me that way.” He turned back, looking her in the eye, “And my witch is a terrible fence. Good Luck, Eleanor.”

He walked through the doors, down the stairs and out of the tavern, approaching his horse when Mr. Gates came back from the shore.

“Have the men come to an agreement?” He pulled himself up onto the black stallion, shushing the horse as it moved around in displeasure. “Or do they need more enticement?”

“They’ll sail tomorrow if the rewards are as great as you promise.” Gates squinted up at him.

Flint nodded, looking towards the port where the sun was just beginning its descent towards the horizon. “Two days from now then,” he smirked at his quartermaster, “that’ll give you enough time to assemble the crew, won’t it?”

He didn’t wait for Hal to nod before he turned his horse away from the dock, and began the ride back to Miranda’s home.

* * *

Miranda’s bed felt much warmer and cosier than it had been previously, when he laid his head upon it upon coming home. Miranda had of course, tutted at him for neglecting to take his boots off, but had happily joined him on the bed when he had pulled her down to lay beside him, laughing as she fell.

“I take it that the crew have said they’ll set sail for him.”

James grunted happily, pulling her towards him until her head laid against his chest. “Do you think the bed will be wide enough for the three of us?”

Miranda looked up at him with a lazy smile, sighing before laying her head back on him. “He’s been in Bedlam for the past twelve months, I highly doubt that he’ll be ready for a romp in the hay immediately upon his return.”

James sighed heavily, bringing one hand up to run through his hair, frowning as he knocked out his queue and the copper strands ran free across his face. “A year in Bedlam, less the time it took to remove him and put him on the ship, do you really think he would have changed so much?”

Miranda traced her hand along the skin that showed through his shirt. “There was a reason that I was so terribly enraged by his being taken James, the navy might not have been quite so fond of telling stories of that place, but they were abundant in the various soirees we attended.

“They call it a place that God himself has turned his back on. If even his light cannot penetrate that place, what sort of fight do you think that Thomas, our poor, sweet, gentle Thomas, could have put up?”

James grunted again, thinking of how it had felt as though Thomas had generated his own light, which he showered upon anyone who looked in his direction.

Until the letter had come from Peter Ashe, not three months ago, James had imagined that the light might have protected him from the horrors. Even when he had heard the news of his death, he had imagined that the light would have eased his passage to the choir invisible. Surely it hadn’t dissipated entirely, had endured.

James thought, “You know that this means that Peter lied to us, about Thomas, about Bedlam.”

“I was hoping to leave that unpleasantness for another day,” Miranda sat up, undoing the laces of her stays, pulling her bodice loose before lying down again, “He’s to become governor of Charlestown, from what my maid said. I’ve no doubt that it was a reward, Hamilton backing him.”

“Fucking Judas.” James sat up pulling his own coat off, “I’m going to have to kill him, of course.”

“Violence only begets violence James,” Miranda put her hand on his shoulder, “Please don’t lose yourself to the fire that burns in you, my love.” The hand trailed up to his face, tracing his lips.

He fell down next to her again, taking in her arms once more, “You and I both know that we wouldn’t have been exiled on mere hear-say, even if it was the wish of Alfred Hamilton, there had to be something concrete. No-one was closer to you and Thomas than he Miranda.”

“Is this finally you admitting to not having been as subtle as you might have been in London?” Miranda purred as he began to run his fingers through her hair, “Or that maybe we were trusting fools who should have though better of society accepting idealism as a policy for Nassau?”

“Maybe. I see no way of dealing with this issue without resorting to violence. If I ransom him there’s no guarantee that he won’t come back.” James sighed again, “And worse, he would know who I am, and use that against me ever keeping Nassau safe from itself. He would use my shame to drive me out once again.”

“Would you not lose some part of yourself if you were to kill him? I know that you’ve killed in battle before, I have made my peace with it, knowing that it was either you or the other man, but to kill deliberately? To kill for revenge?” Miranda pushed herself up on one arm, her hair falling past her face, looking down at James with concern clear in her eyes, “That I’m not sure that I can understand. And if Thomas is alive, I’m not sure that he, the best of us, would be able to understand either.”

“And if your former Father-in-law is on the boat?”

They had spent many a night dancing around the topic of Alfred Hamilton, the closest they had gotten to mentioning his name being when they had finished a full bottle of rum between the two of them, Miranda drunkenly and fondly recalling the night that James had banished them from their home, gleefully trying and failing to imitate his tone of indignant fury, bursting into giggles when James had taken the bottle from her.

Miranda slumped back on the bed. “You’ll need all of your energy for the journey ahead James, sleep my darling.”

James knew that she was right, as she nearly always was. He took off his boots, worked off the leather pants, and fell asleep in nothing but his smallclothes and his dirtied shirt. Miranda was quick to follow, one hand staying upon James’ chest even as they both moved around in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas held onto Abigail as they listened to the fight above decks.

The silent man had been surprised when Peter Ashe had practically thrown his daughter at him, saying only “Pirates” before rushing out again. For the duration of the two and a half weeks they’d been at sea, Thomas’ only visits had been when one of the crew brought him a meal, or, more rarely, when his father would come into the cabin to stare at him for a few silent minutes before departing.

Thomas knew not what to make of the man’s visits, and after the second he had decided to ignore him in favour of listening to the sea through the wooden hull. If the man felt any regret for Thomas’ current state, he could only blame himself. After all, Thomas had been nothing short of brilliant before he’d been sent to the madhouse.

Gun sounded on the deck of the ship as the pirates finally boarded them, and in his panic Thomas ventured out of the cabin and further into the ship, holding onto Abigail as he shut the door quietly. He’d never had a taste for blood.

The small girl remained quiet as they tiptoed down into the hold, her small hands clinging onto his shirt as he carried her. He settled as far away from the stairs as he could, hiding behind two barrels of rum. This way they might only be discovered if the ship was completely overrun, and hopefully by then the pirate’s bloodlust would be sated.

Of course, they’d be discovered if by some miracle the navy men managed to fight the pirates off, but Thomas honestly preferred the pirates.

Abigail, having been so quiet for the entirety of her time in the cabin, finally broke her silence now that they were further away from the fray.

“Mr Hamilton?” she took his hand, her eyes wide with fright, “Why have the pirates attacked us?”

Thomas shrugged, opening his mouth but grimacing when he found that he could not force the sounds from his throat after months of silence. He gestured for her to walk forward, hugging her and staring up at the wooden ceiling, overwhelmed by the sounds of battle.

He dared a glance past the barrel, sighing in relief when he saw that no-one was there.

“Are they going to hurt us?” Abigail pulled back, staring him straight in the eye, her small frame shaking as she no doubt imagined the worst things her seven-year-old mind could conjure.

Thomas shook his head, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. He gestured for her to turn around and sit down, beginning to braid her long hair in lieu of being able to use his words to comfort her.

“Lord Ashe said that no-one knew of the path our ship was to take. He was most insistent, else he would not have brought me.”

She held very still, the picture of a prim and proper lady, something which brought Thomas great sorrow considering her tender age. It was fortunate that he had no ability to speak anymore, otherwise he would have been forced to point out that the ship was taking the same shipping lane that every boat took to get to the new world from England.

He turned her around once her hair had been braided, the hair style having the effect of making her seem closer to her age, her bright eyes no longer hidden by artfully styled curls.

“Maybe, once Lord Ashe has fought off the pirates, I will be able to negotiate on your behalf. You can be my friend for the rest of the voyage, and maybe stay with us when we arrive to Charlestown.”

Thomas smiled sadly, knowing that the treacherous Peter Ashe would do no such thing.

“You could be my friend and help me in my lessons and play with me when Lord Ashe is busy. I can teach you Piano, and French.” She looked at him with a very serious expression, “I’m very good, my governess tells me I’ll be a very accomplished young lady when I am older.”

Thomas’ smile brightened, he held his hand up, and when Abigail was paying attention to it, he held up one finger, using his other hand to gesture for her to speak.

“Un.”

He held up another finger, and another, bringing his other hand up as Abigail counted with him.

“Deux, Trois, Quatre, Cinq, Six, Seite, Huit, Neuf, Dix.”

Thomas brought his hands together, clapping quietly for her little performance.

She smiled widely, putting her own tiny hands atop of his own, looking at him earnestly, “I’ve decided, you must come with us, and be my friend, Thomas.”

Thomas nodded, bringing her close in another hug. He didn’t dare to try tell her that his father would have vetoed the idea, even if her own father had not. He was the scourge of society, a terrible sodomite who threatened the foundations of society. No sane man would dare let him out of a madhouse or a prison, let alone anywhere near children.

No mind, Abigail was young still, and would forget about him in time. She would grow up in the high society of Charlestown, become a very accomplished young woman indeed, and get married at a tragically young age, as all high society women did. When she was older she would pay little attention to the broken man who had briefly distracted her during a pirate attack.

Thomas let himself think of what would happen to him for the first time since the attack had begun. He was worth nothing, and could do nothing aboard a pirate ship, so he supposed that if they were captured, he would either be left stranded on _The Queen’s Honour_ , or thrown to the depths. There was, he supposed, something poetic about that being his end.

Maybe he’d be closer to James and Miranda in spirit, if not in geographical location; his dead loves dead by the hand of the notorious Captain Flint, if Peter Ashe was to be believed.

He didn’t want to think what was going to happen if they were not over-run. He knew little of Charlestown, but he doubted that anything good waited for him there.

Instead he let his mind wander to thoughts of James and Miranda, tuning Abigail’s very detailed description of the wardrobe she was bringing with her to Charlestown out. He missed them desperately, the news of their demise the catalyst for… the unpleasantness that he had perpetuated against himself in Bedlam. It was ironic that now that they were dead he was going to be closer to them, trace their abortive path to the New World.

He was broken out of the reverie by the sound of boots coming down the stairs, four men in all coming down the stairs if his count was to be relied upon. He reached forward, pulling Abigail closer to him as they hid behind the barrels.

Unfortunately, Abigail, in her complete and utter terror, let out a tiny squeak, Thomas’ eyes widening in terror as he heard one of the pairs of boots walk towards their position.

Letting the terror wash over him, he saw his own hands upturn one of the heavier barrels, blocking the man’s path. He pulled Abigail further into the corner, trying to hide both of their faces in the shadows even as he knew that the pirates would find them.

It seemed to have the desired effect, the footsteps halting as he and Abigail cowered together.

For a second Thomas felt safe, only to feel his blood turn to ice as the pirate drew his pistol. Abigail squeaked again, pushing herself away from Thomas and tumbling into the light. Thomas was on the verge of following her out into the light, shielding her from the bullet when the pirate spoke.

“Shit. Somebody get Flint.” There was silence for a moment, “Now, for fuck’s sake!”

Thomas froze on the spot, his breathing quickening as his fingers curled into claws. Was the Lord really so cruel as to force him to meet his end at the same hands as James and Miranda?

Warm tears came to his eyes; unbidden, unwanted, but insistent all the same. He couldn’t stop, even as Abigail looked back at him in concern, inching back until she was once again concealed by the shadows.

They waited in silence, Thomas’ tears still flowing freely onto Abigail’s dark tresses as they sat in the dark corner of the hold. He could hear activity around them, the pirate crew moving the rum, currency and cloth that the ship had been carrying as well as him. There was some small amount of comfort to be taken in the lack of slaves aboard, else he knew they would have been thrown overboard at the first sign of the pirates. At least that wouldn’t be upon his conscience, even as whatever the pirates did to Abigail would be.

Footsteps approached them once again, this time two pairs. Thomas flinched back into the corner as heard them stop and heard the familiar creak of leather as one of the men crouched down. His eyes were closed out of fear, even as he felt Abigail lean into the light, her breathing a bit deeper now, the rapid beat of her heart slowing back to a normal rate even as she faced a pirate.

“Hello little one. I take it that you are Miss Abigail Ashe?”

Thomas wanted to scream when he felt Abigail nod. He could not blame a seven-year-old for being naïve, even though her actions had probably cemented her fate as a future prisoner of the pirates, to be held for weeks until some distant relative paid her ransom.

It would probably take even longer now that she was being held alongside her father; the man most inclined to paying for her release in no position to do so. If he were still a religious man he might have prayed for her deliverance.

“I’m Mr. Gates, I’m quartermaster aboard the _Walrus_. Your father will be staying with us for a time, and he’s very concerned to know that you aren’t hurt. He wants us to bring you to him.”

“I’m not hurt,” Abigail sniffed a bit, revealing her lie, “but you’ve frightened my friend, and I’ll not go with you.”

She leaned back against Thomas, smiling at him despite her fear. “Now that we have decided that you are to be my friend, I’ll not go without you,” her whisper was far too loud, but it made Thomas smile all the same.

He flinched back again as the pirates walked forward, now right against the barrel he had overturned, this time hitting his head against the wood of the hull, a soft grunt of pain escaping him.

The footsteps stopped, someone who he supposed to be Mr. Gates beginning to speak again. “Miss Ashe, we do not want to cause you or your friend any distress. But you must come with us, for there won’t be anyone to crew the ship when we leave, and you cannot stay here by yourself.”

Thomas sighed, desperately wanting to believe the warm tone and the honeyed words.

“I will have my friend,” Abigail piped up, beginning an argument which would last the better part of three hours, which passed Thomas by as though they were only three minutes, so terrified and confused was he. He could barely understand the words, as though they were Aramaic, not English.

Eventually he heard the tell-tale rustling of a paper packet, one which in his limited experience carried the most wondrous of sweets. Even before he heard Mr. Gates speak, offering them to Abigail, he could feel his young friend begin to move, her small hand clasping his as she inched forward and into the light.

_To be fair to Abigail_ , Thomas thought, _a fearsome child murderer is unlikely to waste three hours trying to convince them to go with them instead of just shooting them_.

“Mr. Thomas?” Abigail tried to pull him into the light, her little arms almost strength enough to pull him forward, “Mr.  Thomas, we have to go now. There are lemon drops!”

He felt her turn towards the pirates again. “My friend is still afraid of you and your friend Mr. Gates.”

The other pirate, Flint, Thomas supposed, stepped towards them, a few men now moving the barrel which had been their only protection so that they were left completely exposed.

“He has no need to fear us, no need to fear me, not when I’ve come all this way for him,” an achingly familiar voice began, “Thomas, you have no need to fear us, please, my love, open your eyes.”

Thomas shook his head, gasping in a deep breath. He brought his one free hand up to trace the lines of Flint’s face, tracing his jaw, his lips, his cheekbones. They were identical to the planes of the face he had once loved, still loved, so very dearly. Even the prickly texture of the beard was familiar to him.

“Open your eyes,” the voice quietly beseeched him once again, the tone so familiar that Thomas finally found the strength to open his eyes, his sporadic tears stopping when he saw the familiar green eyes that had haunted his dreams for nearly a year now.

He formed the shape of James’ name in his mouth, his frustration, so long dormant, rising within him as the sounds refused to come. He bowed his head as he heard the last barrel being taken above deck, moving slightly away from James.

He used the wooden hull beside him to stand, and took Abigail’s hand, letting the young girl lead him above deck. His eyes remained downcast, missing the look of deep concern on James’ face.

The four of them; Thomas, Abigail, James and Gates hung back in the shadows as they watched the crew move the cargo from the deck across to the _Walrus_ , each man in sync as they worked relatively quietly.

Thomas froze as he saw Peter and his father on the deck, their hands bound while they were guarded by two very burly looking pirates. He found himself unable to move as James stepped forward into the light, approaching the two dishevelled aristocrats.

“Lord Ashe, we’ve convinced your daughter to join us above decks.” James gestured to the shadows.

Thomas held fast to Abigail’s hand even as she tried to move forward, holding her back until he could be completely sure that she wasn’t in danger.

“I have little care for whether you’ve convinced my daughter to join us or not, Lieutenant, you can leave her on this doomed vessel to starve for all I care,” Ashe spat out, rage clear in his tone, “What I care about is what you intend to do with me!”

Abigail fell back against Thomas, so he picked her up again, patting the back of her head as she laid her head on his shoulder, her small frame shaking as she began to cry. He walked forward into the light, approaching James with a curious, if slightly dismayed expression on his face, as though asking why he’d spent three hours trying to coax the two of them out if they’d not been called for.

James looked back at him with a grim expression, his copper hair shining brightly in the light as he called for a crewman. “Mr DeGroot,” he waited until the sailor approached, then gestured to Thomas and Abigail, “would you be so kind as to show Mr. Hamilton and Miss Ashe onto the _Walrus_ , and take them to my cabin?” He turned slightly to Thomas, “I’ll join you shortly, have no fear.”

The silver-haired man nodded, walking towards a gangplank, steadying Thomas as he climbed onto a barrel and walked across it. He was briefly entranced by the sight of the _Walrus_ , the sails trimmed and the rigging swaying slightly in the breeze.

He had only a moment to take everything in before Mr. DeGroot nudged him in the direction of the Captain’s Cabin. He froze by the door, his mind suddenly conjuring horrors in anticipation of entering the cabin. It was Abigail who pushed to door open, giving Thomas the courage to enter the darkened room.

It was not, all things considered, a terrible place to stay. It was certainly a great deal bigger than the cabin he’d been held in, and better furnished. He held Abigail close as he walked forward towards the clear windows, setting her down on the window seat and smiling as he wiped away her tears.

“Thomas?” She sniffed, her upper lip wobbling, and Thomas desperately looked around the cabin in search of a piece of fabric that he could use to wipe the trail of tears and snot dripping from her nose, “Why was Lord Ashe so cruel about me? What did I do wrong?”

Thomas shrugged, not knowing how to explain that traitors were often fickle creatures, even to those who they claimed to love.

He stood, walking over to the Captain’s very cluttered desk and picking up a slightly greasy rag that seemed to have been used for the immaculate maintenance of the Captain’s hair. He returned to Abigail, dabbing at her cheeks with a soft smile, continuing to wipe away the snot and salty tears until she had calmed down.

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” the little girl hiccupped, and Thomas took her hand, leading her over to the immaculately stocked bookshelves. He picked her up to led her see the books on the higher shelves, both of them tracing their fingers over the gilded letters on the leather covers.

Thomas found himself stilling upon finding a thin tome, his eyes brightening as he pulled _The Tempest_ out from among the other plays of Shakespeare. Maybe afterwards they’d start on _Twelfth Night_.

Abigail brought her little hand to trace the etching on the cover. “The Tempest?” She looked to Thomas for approval before she continued to speak, “William Shakespeare.” She patted him on the shoulder, waiting for him to smile at her before she began to speak again, “My governess told me that I was to learn his plays when I was a bit older, she said that at the age of seven, it was folly to try to fill my head with anything other than etiquette lessons.

Thomas snorted, wondering how a learned woman could espouse such folly. He shook his head as they settled on the window seat once again, opening the front page and tracing a finger under the letters.

Abigail began to read aloud, her voice gaining confidence as Thomas encouraged her to keep going with smiles, and small bursts of applause when she read something particularly dramatically. It was in this state that James found them when he returned to his cabin.

Thomas froze, pulling Abigail slightly closer as James closed the cabin door behind himself. It took his young charge slightly longer to realise something was amiss, reading a few lines of Prospero before she trailed off, looking up at the captain with undisguised fear in her eyes.

“Hello Thomas,” James smiled as he walked forward, his threatening countenance evaporating away as he approached his desk, stopping a few feet away from Thomas and Abigail, “and Miss Abigail.” He poured some water into a metal cup, walking to the window seat and offering it to her.

“Have you hurt my father Captain Flint?”

Abigail took the offered drink, shrinking against Thomas as soon as she held it securely in her hand. Despite her steady tone, Thomas could feel her heart hammering away in her chest from where her back was connected to his side. He placed one hand on her shoulder, the silent reassurance doing very little to make her calm down as he heard her breathing begin to speed up.

“Is that why he said such horrible things about me on deck?”

“Abigail,” James walked forward, his eyes flickering between the small girl and Thomas, “I assure you that neither I, nor any of my crew had done anything to your father when we brought you aboard.”

Thomas, in his involuntary silent state, did his best to glare daggers at James, slowly shaking his head. He’d always loved the man, but dear lord, he could be as blunt as a rock when it came to explaining things to others. It had won him no love from Alfred Hamilton, and would do him absolutely no favours here. It seemed that he eventually took notice.

“But, there are very few men who would react well to being boarded by a pirate vessel, and even less among that number who are aristocrats. Your father probably loves you very much, he was just in a bad state.”

James walked forward and sat next to them on the window seat, fidgeting nervously.

“Were you reading Shakespeare when I came in? You’re a very strong reader Miss Abigail.”

Thomas smiled at the very gentle tone, meeting James eyes and giving him a wink. He leant forward, bringing his finger back up to the page that they had been on, waiting for Abigail to begin reading again before he started to move it.

Several hours later, when they were halfway through _Twelfth Night_ , Abigail finally fell asleep, Thomas laying her on the window seat while James brought a blanket from his own bed and laid it on top of her, gently wedging a pillow under her head.

The copper-haired captain gestured for Thomas to follow him as they walked towards his desk, sitting down on his chair with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I should have rescued you before we left, before all of this, before Ashe could have lied to us and led us to believe that-”

Thomas surged across the desk, covering James’ mouth with his own. After the initial shock wore off, he felt James begin to move, his calloused hands coming up to cradle his cheeks, breaking away after a few seconds to rest their foreheads together. He stood, moving around his desk until they were within reach of each other.

As James walked forward, holding out one hand, Thomas relaxed; when he looked up into James’ eyes, there was nothing but the deepest affection there, his safe haven returned to him.

Thomas stood, smiling shyly at James as he was led across the cabin and towards the bed. He paused at the foot of the bed, grabbing James’ hand when they strayed to the hem of his loose white shirt. He waited for James to look up before shaking his head.

“It’s fine, I don’t want to do anything tonight either, but surely you don’t want to wear that to bed.”

Thomas shook his head, stepping away from James to take his pants off, leaving him in just the shirt and his smallclothes. He lifted his head just in time to see James pulling off his own dark shirt, and couldn’t help himself as he lifted his right hand to trace the small scars upon his torso, mapping the new ones with the tips of his fingers.

James caught his fingers, his hand tracing down the palm of his hand, brushing the rough white fabric of Thomas’ sleeve aside before he could protest, revealing the healing pink scars which marred his right wrist.

Thomas froze, breathing heavily.

James pulled him close again, kissing him on the wrist, his green eyes captivating him below the near translucent lashes as he lifted his head. Thomas smiled as James released his wrist, both hands coming up to bring their foreheads together.

“I love you Thomas,” James pulled them back onto the bed, “I did not say it enough before, should have told you with my every breath. I love you, and I’ll never let you be hurt again.”

Thomas felt warm for the first time in a year as he fell asleep that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Miranda had waited at the docks each day since James had left, her garden incapable of keeping her occupied now that she knew that James was out in pursuit of Thomas.

At first the gentlemen on the beach had found her presence alluring, many of them trying to approach her only to be scared off by her fierce countenance and the completely terrifying glare that she conjured up whenever they came within three feet of her. By the third day, she had been left alone.

If the whispers of those who passed her on the beach while they transported things from the shore to their ship were to be believed, one of the whores had suggested that she was a witch of the sea, currently serving out a magic contract under James Flint.

The superstitious pirates hadn’t bothered her after that.

No, at present, the only person paying her any attention was the giant known as Blackbeard, the man eyeing her from where he sat at a desk underneath the shade of one of the tents. Miranda paid him little mind, preferring to face the sea, scanning the horizon for James’ sails, even though she knew that he wouldn’t be back for another four weeks at least.

On the fifteenth day, he sent her a chair with complements of his quartermaster, and Miranda, having not forgotten her manners, even if Nassau had, nodded at the man politely. It was true that she could no longer dip her toes in the ocean, but it made it easier for her to travel home at night.

On the seventeenth day, the same quartermaster sent a note, compliments of the Captain. Upon reading the invitation to share a luncheon with him, she had decided to break her vigil, knowing that James would not be returning that day. She had walked to Teach’s tent, smiling as she took her seat across the table from him. “I hope that my presence isn’t disrupting your operation Captain.”

Teach snorted at her, “You and I are both too intelligent to enjoy small talk, Miss…?”

“Miranda,” she ripped a piece of bread apart with her hands, spreading some butter across it, “My name is Miranda. You could call me Mrs. Barlow if you wanted to be proper, I suppose, but I highly doubt that would suit either of us. Am I to call you Blackbeard while I am here?

“You may call me Teach, if you wish,” he pulled some grapes towards himself, placing one in his mouth before he spoke. “It’s not often that a notorious pirate captain keeps a good puritan woman. Maybe I’m curious as to whether the rumour of you being a sea-witch is true.”

“I’m neither good, nor a puritan, but nor would I call myself a witch.” She bit into the bread, relishing the fresh taste. “But if it keeps other men away from me, why should I care what others think?”

“And is it your decision to keep others away, or his?”

Miranda felt her lips curl, eyes sparkling as she took a sip of water. “Is that concern I detect in your voice?” She put the cup down, leaning forward, “I can assure you that while it’s flattering, I’m not being held here against my will.”

“Then why are you here? Nassau seems such a strange place for a woman of your obvious charm to stay voluntarily.”

“I was forced out of London, shunned by high society, by the very same people who call for the death of pirates and Nassau alike. It seemed appropriate to be around my peers.” Miranda took another sip of her water smiling at Teach when he raised his eyebrows, “Captain Flint was born in the same period of exile, shunned by the same people.”

“You mean to tell me that a Lord became one of the most feared pirates in the Caribbean Sea?”

“Of course not, that would be ridiculous. He was a lieutenant, in the navy. How else would you expect a single man to become the captain of a ship in mere months?”

“To be honest with you Madam, that sounds worse.”

Miranda chuckled softy, “I assure you, Captain Teach, Captain Flint has no reason to love the British Empire, no loyalty remaining to it. That remains with me, as does his heart. May I ask if any of your four former wives hold yours?” She grinned as Teach sighed, meeting his eyes with a playful defiance. “Did you think that I would allow myself to be so close to you without making the proper enquiries as to your character?”

Teach cleared his throat, biting into a piece of salted pork with gusto before he spoke again, “Is it true that the tip for this particular expedition came from you?”

Miranda nodded, “It is not my usual business, and nor do I wish it to be, but yes. On this particular occasion I was able to furnish Flint with the information about his prize.”

“The Guthries do not appreciate threats to their monopoly on the Island. I hope you have considered that, madam.” He took a sip of his own water before speaking again. “If you do find that there are reprisals taken against you without Flint being present-”

Miranda held up her hand, cutting him off. “I am quite sure that Captain Flint will have described the nature of the prize he seeks, and that the Guthries won’t intercede against me for this single incident.” She sighed, “If you are expressing your concern for me, then I thank you. If however, you are trying to insinuate something more sinister, I think that I shall depart, and return to my usual post.” She stood up, placing her hands against her stomach, smiling down at Teach, “Good day sir.”

“Wait.” Teach’s tone was convincing enough for her to stay, “You speak of this prize as though it is something special. As though there’s immeasurable riches aboard. What is it that you seek?”

“You’d have to be much stupider than your position suggests if you really believed that treasure was only silver and gold.” She nodded at him, turning around and walking back to her chair, beginning her vigil once again.

On the twenty-eighth day, Miranda spotted the now familiar shape of the Walrus. She stayed in her seat as the beautiful vessel began its entrance to the harbour, not even flinching as she heard Teach approach. “It seems they’ve caught a fine wind to bring them home, does it not?”

“Aye,” Teach placed a hand on the back of her chair, “I wondered at the location of the prize, the Carolinas seem such a strange place to go in search of wealthy prizes.”

“I can assure you that on this occasion, perhaps only this occasion, that normally very sound wisdom doesn’t apply.” She turned to smile up at him, “You must be getting restless Captain, do you plan on taking your next prize soon?”

“I could do with chaos.” He paused, examining Miranda with a small smile almost completely obscured by his thick, dark beard. “I’m sure that you could be an asset to Flint aboard his ship, I know that it’s against most of the accords, but he’s new, he could get away with it.”

“I have no intention of joining Captain Flint on the _Walrus_ Captain Teach, I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with my presence on the island for a little longer.” She smiled as he passed her a looking glass, and raised it to her eye, “Though personally, I haven’t found it much of a burden.”

They’re going at a fair speed, they’ll be here within the hour by my estimations.”

Miranda turned, handing the spyglass back to teach. “I’ll take my leave of you then, sir.”  She nodded her head before pulling off her shoes and wading into the water. She may have seemed ridiculous, a grown woman wading like a child, but at that moment in time, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Besides, it was hardly as though there was a pier nearby that James would moor the _Walrus_ at after the last Spanish raid, and she wanted to see James as soon as she could.

Captain Teach was right in his assessment that the _Walrus_ was within an hour of reaching Nassau, the ocean currents and the wind working in the ships favour as it entered the harbour, weighing anchor within 45 minutes of having been sighted. Miranda began to swim out in honest once she saw the long-boats being launched, ignoring the leers and whistles of the men as she approached James’ longboat. While she had groaned when James had first insisted on her learning, thinking that she looked perfectly ridiculous paddling about like a dog, she was glad of the lessons now.

He seemed elated to see her, laughing as he pulled her out of the water and into the long-boat. She smiled up at him, looking deep into his eyes, surely he would not seem so joyous if his mission in retrieving their love had been a failure. A laugh, the first in many months escaped her.

Miranda stilled as she felt a hand fall against her shoulder. For all that she wanted to turn and see who would be so bold as to place their hands on her, the worry that what she would see would irreparably damage the mental shrine she had built to her long-lost husband stopped her. She took a deep breath, looking down as she began to speak.

“For so long, I wondered if it was possible to exist without you, if it wouldn’t kill me to have lost you in such a violent manner.” She turned her head catching the incredibly blue eyes of Thomas, tears coming to her eyes as smiled at her. “Words cannot describe how incredibly glad I am to have you back, my darling.”

She leaned in to rest her forehead against his, taking a deep breath as she felt his now terribly bony hands reach up to stroke her cheek. For a few seconds, everything in her life was perfect, and then a little voice spoke up.

“Thomas, is this your wife?” Miranda looked down to see a small girl, who could have been no more than six or seven, sitting in front of Thomas, in the middle of the boat where she could not get in the way of the rowers.

The former Lady Hamilton looked up in shock, eyeing her husband in complete and utter confusion.

“You know Thomas?” She looked to James, hoping for some explanation, only to see him shake his head.

“Yes,” The little girl smiled at her, “he was my friend on the ship. But he isn’t my tutor, and nor is he a governess, so I just call him Thomas.” She nodded at her explanation, looking back to Thomas with an uncertain expression, waiting for his nod to continue speaking, “But he didn’t say that he was married.” Her face became as wistful as a seven-year old’s could, “He’s been much kinder to me on our trip here than my own father has been.”

Miranda turned to James once again, nodding in understanding when her copper haired love mouthed “Peter Ashe”. She’d get the full story later. For now she just wanted to enjoy the presence of the two lovers she’d missed for so long.

Unfortunately, James was called to the tavern as soon as they reached the beach, Mr. Gates calling for his presence in a tone that brooked no argument, regardless of the fact that James was the Captain, and he only the Quartermaster.

Miranda hooked one arm around his waist, taking Thomas by the hand when James tried to pull away from them.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been together, and I was the person to bring you the tip. If you have business to attend to, I’ll join you for its resolution.”

James smiled at her once again, making no sound of protest as he, Miranda, Thomas and the young girl made their way through the streets of Nassau, not halting once until he had reached the Guthrie tavern, his pace slowing as he led them up the stairs and waited by the door of the office, smiling at Miranda as a high-pitched voice released a litany of curses.

“I’ll explain later,” James opened the door, ushering them in.

Miranda would be lying if she said that she wasn’t surprised to see a girl who could have been no older than sixteen to sit atop an intricately carved chair. But for today, she was just glad to have her husband back, so she just sat next to James on the other side of the desk, holding onto Thomas’ hand even as it made it difficult for him to hold the young girl while he settled onto another chair.

So far, she had a fear that if she were to let him go, she would wake up from this strange dream to find out that he dead, and that the past few weeks had been a dream conjured up by her mind to make her feel less empty after the loss.

James appeared to be the same way, even as he began to speak to Eleanor Guthrie, as she found out the young business woman to be named, Miranda caught his furtive glances at Thomas. Though, of course that was not to say he was distracted from the business of discussing the ransom of their two prisoners.

“Eleanor, please understand, these are two highly valuable men, ones who can be ransomed not only to the profit of my crew, but also to the benefit of Nassau.”

“And who, once knowing that I am running a trading business which willingly accepts stolen goods from pirates, would be able to bring the fury of the British Navy upon my island and have me hanged!” Eleanor sighed, brushing a stray hair out of her face, “You can’t possibly think that I’d allow them to leave this place!”

“I would if the ransom that they could provide was enough to shore up our home from any future attacks!”

Miranda sighed as James tried to argue his point for the third time. The young girl was stubborn, as too was the older man standing in the corner, and Miranda couldn’t help but feel that she was going to scream if she had to listen to this argument go around another time.

She stood, placing one hand on James’ shoulder when he looked up at her in confusion, giving him a small kiss on the top of his admittedly greasy hair before pulling Thomas up and leading him and Abigail to the door. “I have no place in this business, and no desire to listen to your arguments for another hour. If you need us, we’ll be downstairs, having some lunch.”

Abigail perked up at the mention of the food, the combined force of her and Miranda’s urging leading Thomas across the room and down the stairs in record time.

The strange trio ended up sitting at a table underneath the stairs, Miranda opposite Thomas while Abigail sat next to him. She used the little currency that she’d brought with her to buy them a lunch of sausages and eggs, nothing that she couldn’t have prepared at home, but a filling meal none the less. While they ate, she took note of the way Thomas cradled his food towards himself, one arm held in front of it protectively, as though she and Abigail would try to wrench it from him and have it for themselves.

Bedlam would have to burn, Miranda decided.

“Darling?” She smiled at Thomas, waiting for him to look up at her before she continued, “I haven’t heard a word out of you since you arrived.” She reached out to him, stopping shy of his hand.

Thomas shook his head, looking down at his food, for all the world looking like a kicked puppy as he played with the food before him with his rough fork. Miranda sighed, looking to Abigail when the little girl shifted in her seat. “Thomas does not speak, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Miranda closed her eyes, trying to imagine what horrors could have been inflicted upon the wonderful orator who had been her husband for him to be struck dumb from his time in Bedlam.

She reached out with one hand, her fingers tracing the blade of Thomas’ right hand, finding new scars and callouses where there had been none before. Her husband, it seemed was a changed man, and would remain a changed man for quite some time. In truth, she did not mind, she knew it was better to have any version of a living version of Thomas over her idealised version of a dead one. Still, it caused her pain and pause to think that he had been hurt so badly.

“There is no need to worry, my love.” She took his hand more firmly, stroking her thumb along the back of his hand while his fingers curled around her palm. “My heart would never be so fickle as to abandon you as your voice has done.” She smiled as Thomas nodded, picking at his eggs with the fork held in his left hand rather than letting go of her. It was awkward, but preferable to anything of the past twelve months.

The trio remained sitting for some-time, James emerging from the office looking exhausted but ultimately victorious. He smiled at the pair of them as he sat down beside Miranda, his left hand reaching for Thomas’ free hand.

“We’ve agreed to ransom Alfred and Peter back to England.” He stared at Abigail, Miranda watching the cognitive machinery working behind his eyes as he considered his next words, “They will need to be somewhat changed from their present state, but they will be alive.”

“And will it be a state that they would choose to remain living in, if given the choice?”

James sighed, his green eyes flicking over to Thomas before he opened his mouth to answer.

“Every man must accept the consequences of his actions. They took my home from me, and my heart was almost lost to their actions. Their ability to speak, see, or write seems a small price in comparison.”

Miranda sighed as she looked at James, “And what will happen to Abigail, will she be returned with her Father? Are we to ask a ransom for her as well?”

Abigail perked up at the mention of her name, shaking her head vigorously. “No, I don’t want to go back to London, I hate it there, it’s cold and my tutors are mean, and Lord Ashe never has any time for me, please don’t make me go back there, please!” She reached out to Thomas, Miranda’s heart softening as the small girl clung onto his arm and looked up at him with pleading eyes, “Please, Thomas, don’t make me leave here.”

Thomas’ striking blue eyes met her own, his eyes alive and determined for the first time since he had been returned to them. She felt her heart soften against her will, remembering how in the early days of their marriage she and Thomas had actually tried to have children, though their mutual lack of enthusiasm for each other in that regard, coupled with bad luck had quickly relegated that aspiration to the realm of most fairy-tales. It seemed that Bedlam hadn’t created a completely new person, just banged up the old one a small bit.

She looked to James, who had always been terrible at saying no to Thomas, and found that he was openly smiling at the blond-haired man; a complete return to James McGraw after months of the stern James Flint.

“I wouldn’t mind having more people in the house,” James began, smiling at Miranda, “And I’d not return a child to the care of someone so like Alfred Hamilton. Of course, it would require your assent Miranda, otherwise I’m sure that Abigail wouldn’t mind working as a cabin boy. She’s shorter hair than Joji, and at her age it would be very easy for her to pass as a boy.”

Miranda snorted in disdain, “And what exactly would Abigail do in the event of a raid? She’s too young to go over the rail and too innocent to be around your men unsupervised for more than five minutes.” She scoffed, “Imagine how it would look to have a girl of a mere six years-”

“I’m seven.”

“Seven years, swearing like a sailor more than five times her age, no, she’s staying on the Island with Thomas and I. And you, if you should wish to stay with us instead of continuing at sea.”

She locked eyes with James, smiling at him gently. She was not surprised to see him shake his head, nor to see his eyes wander over to Thomas, his expression softening as his hand trailed up Thomas’ arm, tracing circles into the crook of his arm above his shirt.

Miranda stood, smiling down at her newly reunited family, “My dears, I think that it is far past the time for us to return home if we want to have dinner at an acceptable hour.”

She pulled at the shoulder of James’ shirt, smiling as he pulled Thomas up, and her husband pulled Abigail up to her feet. She walked to the front door of the Tavern, taking Abigail’s hand as the left the tavern and walked into the street.

It took several hours to be done with the day; the journey to the interior taking nearly an hour with the weight that they had put on the cart, and then dinner taking nearly two hours to prepare after that. And then, they’d had to make up a bed for Abigail before they could even think of falling asleep. It would not be a complete exaggeration to say that by the end of the day, Miranda could feel the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

And then, when she saw James and Thomas awkwardly standing at the foot of the bed, it evaporated, like morning dew on a sunny day.

Miranda walked forward, leaning against James as she removed her shoes, giving him a quick peck on the cheek when she had finished. She sat on the bed, looking down as she began to unlace her stays, sighing in relief as she felt the pressure of her bodice disappear.

“You’d think that an island overrun by pirates would allow its women some more comfortable attire.”

She pulled her dress off, shedding the oppressive layers until she was left in nothing but her shift, groaning in relief when she finally fell back against her bed. She allowed herself a few seconds of blissful comfort before she cracked open an eye and sighed when she saw that James and Thomas were still standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

“We have spent so much time in one another’s beds, why should we treat this night as being any different?” She held out both her hands, breathing softly as she waited for them.

James smiled, taking Thomas by the hand and leading him to the bed. Miranda moved to one side, trailing her hands over her husband’s feet as she helped him to remove his shoes and stockings. Out of the corner of her eye she could see James doing the same as he divested Thomas of his breeches, leaving him in nothing but his shirt and his small-clothes. The blonde pushed away Miranda’s hands gently when she tried to remove his shirt, bringing her hands to his mouth and kissing them gently before he settled between Miranda and James.

It was clear that they were not the same people that they had been a year ago, not even close.

But for tonight, and all nights after, they were more than enough for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done, thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you thought, and don't forget to leave kudos if you enjoyed :)


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